Lucky Dave

After years of riding motorbikes and enjoying day trips away with friends, the group began to grow. Mainly work colleagues, but the odd (in some cases very odd indeed) civvy aswell. All were welcome. The only stipulation was you had to have a motorbike. Surely there can be nothing worse than standing at a bus stop wearing leathers and carrying a crash helmet, just to get to the pub to talk about an imaginary bike ride whilst claiming to be a member of the biggest baddest motorcycle gang to emerge out of Lochee. Okay, well it wasnt the biggest, and certainly wasn't the baddest, but arguably the best.
On the return leg of a trip up north, we stopped near to Dunkeld and the converstaion turned to a foreign trip. How frightfully exciting, jet set and urbane. We were all up for it and enthusiasm reigned supreme. Agreed. We would go and share our biking abilities with the rest of Europe and bring back hitherto unseen treasures and glory. Women would fall at our feet and we would be world travelling heroes. Okay, a slight exaggeration but a damned exciting prospect.

Since JT and I worked together and were great mates, we would do all the planning, arrange the ferry from Rosyth and book the campsite in Luxembourg. Several months of route planning, mapping and general hard graft later, guys started committing to the trip by paying large sums of money to cover the costs. Before we knew it we had (if my memory serves me right) twenty guys on twenty bikes arranging to set off. No I don't mean each of the twenty guys had twenty bikes. That would be ridiculous. How on earth would twenty guys ride four hundred bikes into Europe? The ferry alone would be extortionate. Be sensible.

We arranged to meet at work, all parked up looking great and excited to be going off on our first big adventure. After the obligatory photo shoot we were to be off, only lucky Dave was still to make an appearance. This was when I first saw Lucky Dave. About 10 minutes late, this battered old wreck of a bike, with an equally describable rider came trundling to a halt. What a sight to behold. Keep in mind we are talking motorbikes, Dave's offside mirror was from a Ford Transit van. His luggage for a week of camping comprised an old "demobbed" suitcase tied onto the back of the bike with bungees and sisal. Dave was clearly a man of few words. Mainly ones like " it's my round", but he would become the life and soul as well as the bain of the trip. A great natural ability to be a likeable pain in the butt for anyone. 

Off we set, all packed and ready to go. The first leg was an easy one, from Dundee to Rosyth to catch the ferry. Nothing difficult about that. Thankfully we all made it in one piece, including Lucky Dave, and doubly thankfully well ahead of the scheduled departure time. Check in was another matter as a helpful you lady came around to check passports and.... Lads exclaims LD. " Lads, your not going to believe this but....do you need a passport?" Oh, very funny LD. No seriously he didn't think a passport was essential so had left it on the kitchen table. Swift exit for LD for a fast run back to Dundee to collect it then high tail it back to the boat. Well, we waited and waited, inched forward in the boarding queue then approaching the ramp, began to worry. Would LD ever be seen again?

As the last of us boarded the parking deck LD's clapped out rust bucket could be heard bouncing its valves as he screeched into the check-in area and he proudly presented his passport. By the time he boarded, he was the last vehicle and parked a long way back from the rest of us. Eventually, cabins allocated and overnight bag dumped, we all met in the bar. Naturally LD was last to  join us, but proudly exclaimed he had made it. Apparently his journey (now three times what we had travelled) had caused him to arrive on petrol fumes and the risk that his bike might not start the next morning.

Since LD was parked behind several lorries, cars and buses, he was not going to be exiting the boat along with the rest of us, so we agreed to all follow the signs towards Bruges, stop at the first available petrol station and meet him there. That route was as follows: 

Off the ferry and up the only road (a slip road to a flyover junction.)

Straight over the main road and onto the signposted slip road towards the motorway at the bottom of which was a huge Texaco filling station. Total distance, about 400 metres. If that. Clearly visible. Add to that 19 bikers waiting on the forecourt and it shouldn't have been difficult for LD to find. 

Imagine how long it takes for 19 bikes to fill up with fuel and pay. Quite a while I hear you say to yourself. Bear in mind that someone was always on the lookout for our missing comrade and you can imagine our frustration when he still failed to appear. Surely even if he couldn't start his bike he could manage to push the thing a couple of hundred yards to the flyover and we would see him? No that wasn't the problem. As we waited, with less and less patience, LD's bike roared into view at the top of the ramp from the boat. He then ignored all the direction signs and disappeared right towards town.  F@*#ing idiot. A few minutes later, he rode past the other way, still on the flyover. Pr@#k. Then later still back again. WTF.  Finally after much furious shouting and waving he spotted us and rolled into the patrol station saying "sorry lads". That came to be a frequently used expression. After filling his miracle bike that seemed to run without the aid of fuel (or a sane rider) he again apologised profusely " sorry lads" .....  and we sped off on our happy holidays. 

Fast forward to the arrival at Mersch in Luxembourg and who was last in the camp site? Yes, how did you guess?

Everyone pitched their tents, cleaned themselves up and hit the bar for some much deserved refreshment and food. After about an hour, and certainly after food, by which time it was dark, someone remarked that LD was missing. No change there then!  Just at that a vision of nightmare proportions entered and proclaimed .."sorry lads.... had a bit of an accident." " Are you okay?" "Yes, i tripped over a guy rope and fell onto a tent." "Don't worry Dave, we'll help you put your tent back up". "It wasn't my tent. Who has the blue one?"  The now unfortunate owner duly admitted ownership , cautiously enquiring what the damage was. "Is it badly damaged Dave?" The response......"sorry lads but I had a knife in my hand at the time and the tent is now cut open". Que much hilarity and tears rolling down faces (apart from the unlucky owner of two halves of a tent)

During the remainder if the trip, LD managed to crash into the rear of another biker and break his pannier, "sorry lads.... i didn't see you there. He also got lost, "sorry lads..... I didn't see where you went" and finally managed to appear on the return ferry to announce "sorry lads...... I've lost my wallet".

Years later and numerous bike trips with/avoiding LD, we were with him as he crashed into a field on a right hand bend that was visible for miles. While waiting for the ambulance for his suspected broken ankle we asked what had happened? "sorry lads...... I didn't see it........I'm registered blind you know." WTF